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Disease

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In the dead of the night
He perched among the wire
Scaring people away by his deadly attire
Skin and bones
He was a creep
and just as his name implied
he would never sleep

Souls he would steal
From random nobodies like him
Although he was a glutton
His chance of survival was slim
Blood stained his beak
His black feathers were sleek
He was a crow
He stood so low

He arrived from the gates of Hell
Surviving in the real world pretty well
But now he was sick
The virus inside stole his blood like a tick

One night when sitting on his throne
He began to wonder if he should head back home
But when he stretched his wings to the sky
He couldn’t beat them to fly

He was so weak he needed help
But no one would hear his pitied yelp
So he attempted to jump
But he dropped to the ground with a sickening “thump”

And now broken he lay
Where he would forever stay
He closed his eyes, he began to weep
“Oh if only!” He cried

“If only I wasn’t diseased...”





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